


Ten

by Lunatik_Pandora



Series: A Different Orbit [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All aboard the Feels train, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Hot Mess Express, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Welsh Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22759477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunatik_Pandora/pseuds/Lunatik_Pandora
Summary: What happened to Remus between Halloween 1981 and when Dumbledore came to find him for the Defense position?Very little good, turns out.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks (background)
Series: A Different Orbit [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632550
Comments: 15
Kudos: 53





	Ten

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

Remus looked up from the coffee he was fixing himself -- because he could feel today was going to need something stronger than tea -- to see Harry approaching the counter from behind him, reaching for a mug and pouring himself a cup of the strong, dark brew as well.

“Careful, I tend to make that a bit stronger than Sirius does.”

“Anyone can make coffee stronger than Sirius, his is translucent.”

“Point made.” He leaned back against the counter, watching the steam rise from his coffee and wondering if this was the best time to have this conversation. “I thought you’d still be in bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” His tone was light, but he could see the dark smudges under his eyes. Remus knew he had been having issues with nightmares since the events at the ministry. Didn’t matter to him that everyone injured had ultimately been fine after a short stay in St. Mungo’s; he blamed himself for them being there. “And besides, I’d have thought you would still be in bed. Isn’t Dora still on leave?”

“Na, she went back in this morning; left around 4 or so to start her shift.”

“Bollocks.” He hummed in agreement; auror shifts were total insanity. He was still struggling to make sense of her schedule half the time. Harry gestured at his arm again. “So, when did you get that, anyway?”

“1982. It’s… a long, rather depressing story.”

“Oh. Well, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Remus looked up and saw Sirius standing in the doorway, his expression caught between sympathy and silent support.

“No, I should tell you. You deserve to know.” He sighed and motioned for Harry to head to the sitting room. Sirius caught him on his way to the coffee pot, wrapped an arm around him and kissed the top of his head.

“I’ll be there in a ‘mo.” He nodded, unable to speak. Sirius released him, making himself a cup of coffee -- which he tasted, nearly spat out, and then drowned in cream and sugar -- and Remus followed Harry to the sitting room, where he found him already sitting in the armchair that Remus had come to understand he had claimed as “his spot.” His bright green eyes were searching his face with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“This is awfully serious for a conversation about a tattoo.” He sat down heavily on the sofa nearest him with a sigh.

“Yeeees, well, it’s a serious story.” Almost on cue, Sirius sauntered into the room, balancing a plate of biscuits in one hand, and his oversweetened coffee in the other.

“Did someone call me?” Twin groans met his horrid pun, as he chuckled and plopped down on the sofa next to Remus, their thighs touching. He set the biscuits down on the table, popping one into his mouth before sitting back and threading his fingers through Remus’. He saw Harry’s eyes flick down to their hands, one brow twitching upwards. Remus looked down at the tattoo on his forearm, tracing it lightly with his fingertips; an antler resting in stargazer lilies.

_I’m not going to fuck this up again. I promise._

“So. The story behind this tattoo… I’m sure you can already tell this is for your parents?”

“Bit obvious.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Well. The whole story is about a bit more than just the tattoo. Needless to say that while the 80’s were, by and large, the worst years of my life, the decade had at least started out on a wonderful note. We got to welcome you into the world. Quite literally.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, situation being what it was, your parents were afraid to have you at St. Mungo’s, so they elected instead to have you at home, with only their most trusted friends present to assist.”

“Wait, hang on… they didn’t have any healers present?” He shook his head, sipping his coffee.

“No, they didn’t trust anyone else but us with it, so… James was moral support, Peter ran supplies, and Sirius and I were the ones who actually did most of the-- well, not most of the _work_ , that was your mam obviously, but we were the ones that delivered you.” He stole a look at Harry, who was staring at them, thunderstruck. Sirius snorted, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of his hand.

“Moony’s being modest; I was mostly just assisting him with things. Passing him towels and such. He was the one that actually caught you when you came screaming into the world. He was the very first person to ever hold you, even before your parents. Me? I just cleaned you off after, and then you pissed all over my shirt.”

“Oh… sorry?”

“Nah, don’t be. That’s when James settled on me for Godfather. Said you had chosen.”

“No, he was laughing his arse off at you, and said he had _claimed_ you. As in, marked his territory.”

“Semantics.” Remus shook his head.

“Regardless, we were all very close during those years. You weren’t just James and Lily’s son. You were all of ours. I don’t think Sirius or I missed any of your early firsts, we practically lived there then. And then 1981 came around, and things started…” He struggled to find a word for the chaos and uncertainty of those final months.

“Going tits up?” Harry supplied softly. He nodded.

“Yeah, that’s one way to phrase it, I suppose. I had started spying on the packs, and since it was all being kept quiet for my safety, I had to keep my activities secret. From everyone. With everything going on, my sudden and unexplained secrecy was ...not well received.”

“Didn’t help we had Peter muttering in our ears about how you couldn’t be trusted. Just made it all worse.”

“I think we both have a lot of things we regret in regards to Peter.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, I was away with the packs when word finally got out to us that Voldemort was gone. They started more or less scattering, so I came home. Found out pretty quick that home didn’t exist anymore.” He swallowed hard, trying to fight back the memory of the crushing despair he had felt at that time in his life. “James and Lily were dead, you had for all intents and purposes vanished, and I thought Sirius had murdered Peter and betrayed us all. Everyone I loved was just… gone, practically overnight. I didn’t… handle it particularly well.”

He felt Sirius’ hand grip his tighter, centering him as he tried to find the strength to continue.

“It was Christmas of 1981. I was living in a tent at the time, jumping from one temp job to another, trying to keep from being discovered while still earning enough to eat. I was mostly successful. But I was in a pretty rough spot, mentally, and I don’t think it really struck me how bad off I was until that first Christmas, when I realized I wasn’t going to be going to Lily and James’s place for dinner, and that Sirius wasn’t going to be charming mistletoe to follow me around so he had an excuse to kiss me every five bloody minutes, and Peter wouldn’t be bringing his mam’s treacle tart, and then hiding away half of it so he would have enough to take home for himself without James eating it all. I wasn’t going to be able to see you flying around on that bloody training broom I’d heard Sirius had gotten you, or watch you go absolutely mad when Lily tried to get you off it so she could try and settle you down for the night. I’d never be able to see you, or any of them, ever again. It was all just… gone, and it was never coming back, and I felt responsible for my part in it, because I thought I should have seen the signs, and that I should have stayed home with my family, with _my pack_ , and protected _them_ , instead of going off trying to play the bloody hero.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get his breathing under control while he focused on the pressure of Sirius’ warm hand in his. _I am not going to start crying in front of him. I refuse, I refuse, I REFUSE_.

“So that night, I nicked a bottle of scotch from the bar next to where I was working at the time, took it back to my tent and downed probably about half of it in one sitting. I laid there on the floor with the lights off, just… screaming into the bloody carpet for what seemed like ages. I was in agony, and in that moment I didn’t see any way out. I had nothing and no one, and no future.” He paused, biting his lip nervously. He couldn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“I got up at some point and sort of half-threw myself into a chair, I remember that much. Grabbed a knife off the table, drove it right into my arm here,” he tapped just above his wrist. “And dragged it all the way up here, almost to the elbow.” _So much blood… I never was able to get those stains out_.

“Were you trying to kill yourself?”

“You know, I wonder about that sometimes. It’s hard to say if I was trying to kill myself or whatever it was in me that was hurting. The details are a little fuzzy. Either way, I was seeking an end, one way or another, so I suppose it’s functionally the same answer.”

“So, to translate that: yes, Remus tried to kill himself.” He squeezed Sirius’ hand in warning, and chanced a look at Harry; the boy looked stricken and unsure. _But not pitying, at least… don’t think I could handle pity_.

“What happened?”

“Well… I was sitting at the table, knife in my arm, bleeding out all over the place, and I think I started hallucinating. I don’t know whether it was from the blood loss or the alcohol, and honestly I don’t really care. But I saw your parents. Different than they had been in my nightmares over the prior weeks leading to that; weren’t angry and blaming me, and didn’t look dead. They looked… exactly the same as they had when I last saw them. Lily put her hands on my arm and said, ‘Remus, love, you’ve got to get up, you’ve got to fix this.’” And James told me where my wand was, ‘cos I had tossed it across the room, and they kept encouraging me to get up and save myself, because--” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Because you were still out there, and you needed me. And I needed to pull myself together.” He tried to ignore the shocked look on Harry’s face at this.

“So I did. I grabbed my wand, and I healed myself up as best I could before I passed out. Woke up the next morning on the floor, covered in blood, and my arm had this huge scar down it. That’s about when I remembered what I did. I spent the week recovering -- a horrific hangover plus trying to recover from massive blood loss on top of that was no walk in the park. Then I went out right after New Year and I used some money I had stashed away and got this. Partially to cover the scar, but also to remind me of why I couldn’t ever do that again. It wasn’t the end of it, of course -- the 80’s were fucking brutal. But I never did try to kill myself again… at least not on purpose.” He felt Sirius’ hand twitch in his, catching the hint; he was torn between wanting Harry to ask and praying he didn’t.

“But you almost did accidentally?” He closed his eyes with a sigh, feeling a combination of trepidation and relief pulse through him. _No matter how he takes it, it’ll be out. No more secrets. Not from him_.

“Oh, a good number of times. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m still alive is due to dumb luck and the fact that I’m a werewolf, and therefore notoriously hard to kill.” Harry did not appear particularly impressed with the joke, but seemed to at least sense that Remus was trying to break tension; he shifted and sat back a little farther in his chair.

“But what was--”

“Drugs… _a lot_ of fucking drugs. The harder the better, as far as I was concerned at the time. Whatever I could score to make me not have to feel my own feelings, so… typically heroin. Ended up getting my first hit probably a month or two after I got this tattoo, sad as that is. Had a bad moon, got banged up something awful. Seedy-looking bloke saw I was hurting and offered me a gram. He was nice, and seemed like he meant well, so I took him up on it. Existence was pain at that point in my life, and I was really bloody tired of hurting. He showed me how to take it. Said it was the best painkiller he’d ever taken. Wasn’t wrong… _nothing_ compares.” He paused, remembering the feel of that first needle as clearly as if he had just pressed the plunger. 

“That first time feels like the best sex you ever had the second it hits your veins, and then all of a sudden you’re floating above everything. Nothing hurts, nothing matters, you’re just wrapped in this… cocoon of bliss, for as long as it lasts. It was all still waiting for me when I came down, of course. I still felt like I’d been hit by a lorry. My life was still in shambles. I still struggled with suicidal thoughts, and the ghosts of my dead friends, and of my mistakes, haunted me at every turn, seemed like. And it was worse after, because you come down from that kind of an incredible high to… all of that. So I just… kept chasing the feeling of that first hit, and none of the others ever quite measured up to it, but they were close enough to keep me coming back.”

“Weren’t you having trouble affording food though? How did you afford a drug habit?”

“Figured it out here and there. I still did odd jobs like I had been, which was usually enough to buy me what I needed. But I shot up everything I earned. For food, I’d usually steal it or just pick it out of restaurant bins. So for about nine years, I just sort of existed like that. Habit got worse over time… collapsed most of the veins in my arms. Got a scar right here,” He pointed to a mark on his left forearm, near the wrist. “Broke a needle tip off trying to shoot it here. Had to dig it out myself. Bloody thing congealed before I could finish.”

“Your blood?”

“No, the drugs. You’ve only got so much time to shoot it after you cook it down. Can’t shoot a solid. I was bloody furious that night, I remember.”

“So what did you do?”

“Ground it up and snorted it like a fucking idiot. Not really supposed to do that, but I couldn’t afford to waste it since it was the last I had, and it did keep the edge off just enough to get me back out to my dealer.” He wrinkled his nose. “That was a bad time.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It was. I kept on like that until.. Oh, summer of ‘91, I think? Might have been June. Anyway, I was waiting for the bloke I had been buying from. Nice enough guy, clean supply. Was at the London Zoo. Public places made it a little easier to do business, wasn’t as conspicuous, so long as you kept away from security. So I’m sitting there, waiting, pretending to look at the fucking lions or whatever when all of a sudden I hear this voice, one I recognized. And I look, because of course you have to look, and I see Lily’s sister, who I had met a small handful of times before. She’s walking with her husband, and there’s two boys running around them, one blond, one dark haired. And for a split second I thought maybe that dark haired one was you, but I got a better look, and no, was just some rat-faced kid. For a half second I was almost relieved, because I didn’t know what I would do if I saw you, and I almost turned back around, but then I saw this head of messy black hair trailing after them, and it just stopped me cold.” He locked eyes with Harry.

“I was nothing but a homeless junkie with a total of fifty pounds to my name that I was until that moment preparing to shoot into my veins. I had been eating out of bins and stealing what I couldn’t scavenge. I was in no state to be the person you needed me to be then, but I did see that you needed me. I saw the state of your clothes, and how thin you were, and how those _people_ didn’t even seem to care if you got lost in the crowd behind them. But most of all I saw your face, and how you were looking around like you couldn’t believe your luck. And I saw that despite that, and despite being in the middle of a crowd, you looked so fucking lonely. And maybe I couldn’t have taken you in like I wanted to, but you had grown up alone, and that was something I did have control over, Dumbledore be damned. I had _promised_ you.” He looked down, trying to will away the tears he had felt springing to his eyes.

“You asked him about me?”

“I did, once. Early on, before that first Christmas. All he told me was that you were living with your aunt and uncle, that you were safe, and that you were not to have any contact with Wizards for your own protection. I was told in no uncertain terms not to go trying to seek you out. I should have told him to go fuck himself, but--”

“It doesn’t sound like you had it in you to fight for me right then.” He looked up sharply, seeing Harry _seeing_ him, understanding completely. Harry shrugged at him. “I’m not angry. You had to fight for you first.”

 _Ah, fuck. So much for not crying in front of him_. He buried his face in his hands, trying in vain to get himself back under control.

“Ni allaf wneud hyn,” he moaned miserably. He felt Sirius let go of his hand and twist to face him, his hand coming up to hold him by his nape as he rested his forehead against his head.

“Hey, mae'n iawn. Byddwch yn iawn. Rydym yn hyn gyda'n gilydd.”

“Methais. Torrais fy addewid.” Sirius shook his head fiercely.

“Methodd y ddau ohonom. Rydyn ni yma nawr. Gwnawn yn iawn ganddo.”

“Sut y gall faddau i mi?”

“Sut y gallai faddau i'r naill neu'r llall ohonom? Ni allwn wybod oni ofynnwn iddo.”

Remus dropped his hands, nodding slowly. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don't be.” Sirius looked over to Harry, who was nibbling on a biscuit without really eating it, looking terribly awkward. “Sorry about that, mate. Remus forgets how to speak English sometimes when he starts feeling his own feelings.”

“S’alright. What language was that?”

“Welsh. Moony’s from South Wales, just north of Swansea. We can teach it to you if you'd like, so you don't get left out. Your mum spoke it near fluently herself. Apparently her grandmother was Welsh also.”

“I had no idea.” Remus snorted.

“I don't suppose Petunia would have spoken it at home. Too _common_. Forgets she's from bloody Cokeworth.” Harry's eyebrows flew straight into his hairline at Remus’ harsh tone. “Sorry. Not feeling too charitable towards her, and it's always been a bit of a touchy subject. Lily and I used to commiserate over that quite a bit.”

“What, the merits of Welshness or Petunia being a stuck-up bint?”

“Yes.” Harry's face broke out in a conspiratorial grin at that, reminding Remus so much of Lily that it physically ached. The grin faded, though, and he could see the question in his eyes.

“So… what did you do after you saw me?” The grin returned, this time wry. “I'm told I have a saving people thing, but even so I highly doubt you were just magically cured of a heroin addiction after you saw me one time. I mean, I'm pretty good, but I'm not _that_ good.” He could see the self-depreciating humor for what it was, and opted to simply make a note of it and move on. Sirius, who had shifted back into his seat beside him and retaken his hand, gave him a gentle squeeze; it had not gone unnoticed by him either.

“Well, my dealer showed up while I was having my existential crisis, and I had to deal with him one way or another. So… I apologized, and told him I had changed my mind, and wouldn't be buying. That I was going to kick, and that I was willing to give him half of what I had offered to pay him for the lost time, and the risk. He looked me up and down for a minute, goes ‘You serious?’ And I say I am. So he tells me to follow him. I was sure I was dead at that point; dealers are not people you want to cross. But I followed him, and instead of offing me like I thought he might, he took me to the chippy, bought me a meal, and asked me what brought the change of heart about.” He busied himself with his coffee mug for a moment, trying not to watch Harry out of the corner of his eye, afraid of how he'd react.

“So, I told him: I needed to get my arse straightened out for my kid, because he was all I had left. And I needed to be there for him.” Harry had suddenly gone very still. “And he looked at me, told me to keep my money, and gave me the address for a clinic where I could get the help I needed. Wished me luck, and left.”

“So you went to the clinic?”

“I got information from the clinic, but… no, I went back to my tent. Destroyed everything I had been using to get high, and locked myself in the loo. Set wards up against myself while I still could, and settled in for what was going to be a very, very uncomfortable time.” He shook his head. “Nothing any of those bloody pamphlets said could have prepared me for how bad that was. ‘Flu-like symptoms’ my arse. More like the bloody Spanish flu. And _of course_ there was a full moon that week, because why the fuck not. But it was also _an eclipse_ , which meant I was half-conscious for all of it. I did not want to be half-conscious for _any_ of it, I wanted to be _dead_.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, it was… not the best time. But, the positive is that I was just obstinate enough to stick it out. I was still a bit sick for… hmm.. probably about six months or so? But nothing, absolutely nothing so bad as that first week. That was horrid. So, by the time this arsehole did a runner, I hadn't touched a needle in about two years, and other than the moons making me sicker than they used to, and taking longer to recover from, I'd been doing alright. I'd been in touch with Dumbledore by that point, and he knew about where he could find me when he needed a Defence professor with knowledge of Sirius Black.

“I didn't really know what to expect when I first met you, honestly. Didn't know how I wanted to introduce myself. Didn't know how to explain everything, or if I even should. Also wasn't expecting you to come traipsing into the exact compartment I was in, and completely take that decision out of my hands, but you have the same knack of timing as your father, apparently.”

“I remember, you were sleeping.” Remus grinned and shook his head.

“I _wanted_ to be asleep. Full moon had been the night before and I was knackered. And you lot were being rather respectful, I have to admit. Kept your voices down and all. But I couldn't sleep, knowing you were right there.”

“... Hang on… when Malfoy came in. You snored a bit. Were you…?”

“Faking? Absolutely. Figured pointing out that he was acting out in front of an adult would have been enough to chase him off, and I was right.” Remus winked at him. “Anyway, I was supposed to be your professor that year, and I was still sort of wrapping my mind around you. Last time I saw you, zoo incident aside, you were still chewing on your mother's hair and calling me Moo.” Harry snorted into his coffee.

“Moo? Really?”

“You couldn't pronounce Remus or Moony, so it was just Moo. I thought it was cute. Sirius was just called Dog, and you used to just throw things and scream at Peter when you saw him, so I think I got the better end of the deal.” Harry's eyes were practically dancing with mirth over the rim of his mug. “So you can see why I was suddenly at a loss. As a baby, you were still a bit abstract. You had a personality, of course, but you were still kind of developing. You at thirteen, though? You had experiences and opinions on things, and you were frighteningly self sufficient. You didn’t actually need me after all, I thought, and I didn't really know how to approach you as anything other than your professor, at least at first. I was… immensely glad that you told me off about the boggart.”

“I hardly told you off…”

“You were steaming over it; I could tell. You got that little knot between your brows like your dad would always get when he was annoyed, and you wrinkled your nose up on the one side: classic Evans face, when she was biting her tongue. I had _insulted_ you. Felt bloody awful about it after the fact, mind. Was planning on making it up to you somehow in the next class, but you surprised me. Dementors, of all things. At thirteen.

“So I started to get to know you through those Patronus lessons, and… hell, I don't know what I had expected you to be like, but you were…” He fiddled with the mug in his hands, frowning. “I'm trying to find a way to explain this without it coming out wrong… coc y gath… I guess the version of you that I had kind of constructed in my head was like… the best parts of your parents, blended into one. And I didn't really know what that looked like, but I knew I'd know it when I saw it, you know? And then I actually _met_ you, and you were… so much more than I had expected. You were the best of them, but also the worst --that temper of yours comes to mind-- and also somehow like _us_ , good and bad, and still found room to be something all your own in between. It was… amazing. I'm still amazed, honestly. And never more grateful that I decided not to die after all.” Remus looked up to see Harry staring at him, wide eyed, and he could see he was striking a chord.

“I got this tattoo as a reminder that I have people that I love who I need to live for. None of us are perfect. Me least of all.” He ignored the nudge from Sirius. “But we're family. We're _pack_. And I'm tired of keeping secrets from my pack when all that's done is tear us all apart. So…” He trailed off with a shrug.

“Sorry for dumping all of that on you.”

“S’alright. Good to talk about someone else’s problems for once, to be honest. Kinda helps me keep perspective.” Harry was picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, a pensive look on his face. Suddenly, he sighed, nodded, and stood up, pulling his shirt up over his head as he did so.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“You showed me yours. I'm showing you mine.” And for a moment, Remus and Sirius glanced at each other, wondering when he had gotten a tattoo… and having a sinking suspicion that wasn't what he was referring to. Bare-chested, Harry pointed to a scar beneath his ribs, about the length of his middle finger. Thin, but a bit puckered. _Stitches_ , Remus thought absently. Sirius’ grip on his hand had tightened almost painfully.

“Stabbed myself in the stomach here. Aunt Petunia came in, saw me lying on the floor, screamed at me for getting blood all over the tile. Nine stitches, and I lost a few bits and bobs on the inside there. Part of my liver I think, and something else. Petunia came and got me, and said ‘If I have to get stuck with you, you have to get stuck with you. So suck it up.’ Bedside manner could have used some work. I decided I was going to keep going, just to spite her. I was… nine, I think.”

“Nine.”

“Yeah. That was just the first time though.” Remus’ blood ran cold.

“The… first time?” Harry nodded.

“Not all of them were on purpose, necessarily, but, erm… I’m told I don’t really have the best track record with self-preservation.” He showed the crook of his arm; there was a very faint scar there, above the knife-scar from Peter. “Basilisk, second year. Stabbed it in the mouth, so it stabbed me back. It died, I didn’t. Thought I was going to though. Wasn’t too fussed about it at the time. Turned out alright though. And you know about this one, below it. These are newer though.”

Three faint scars across his forearm. _Sweet Merlin_.

“They’re from over last summer. Couldn’t sleep, could barely eat. Kept having nightmares about Cedric, wondering what I could have done differently, and if he’d still be alive if I did. And everyone just… left me there to stew in it alone. ‘Dumbledore said’.” He scoffed, clearly still very bitter over it. Remus’ mind was whirling; he had been abroad, trying to dig up his old contacts from the packs that he had made in the first war. And Sirius had been trapped in Grimmauld Place, trying to scour the place of dark magic and creatures to make it habitable, not for the Order, but for Harry. He was trying to bring him home.

Harry hesitated. Then rubbed at his left arm nervously. “There’s one more.”

Remus could no longer feel his fingers. Harry, trembling slightly as he did so, showed his left forearm, where a scar sat that was nearly identical to Remus’ own, only it looked like the wound hadn’t been as deep. It was also still pink and shiny; very fresh.

“Normally, my disregard for my own safety doesn’t nearly get my friends killed. I almost lost them. I almost lost everyone. I don’t--” he cut off, and Remus could see him biting the inside of his cheek as he glared at the scar on his arm, his hand clenching into a fist. “It was my fault.”

Sirius practically leapt out of his seat to grip Harry by the shoulders.

“I want you to listen very closely to me. You made a decision based on the best information you had at the time. Your only mistake was in thinking that it all had to be up to you, whether it was to protect me or save the world. It doesn’t have to be all up to you.”

“It does though! That’s the problem!”

“Why?”

“Because of some stupid _fucking_ prophecy that Trelawney made, that Voldemort decided to believe. That was why he went after my parents in the first place! They’re dead because he was after me!” Remus could only watch as his boy’s composure, always seemingly held together so well, shattered, completely and utterly.

“Did you hold the wand?”

“No, but--”

“No. You did not. You were a baby. You didn’t make the prophecy, you didn’t decide to believe it, you didn’t betray your parents by selling them out to Voldemort, and you didn’t cast the curse that killed them. You just… were.”

“And if I _wasn’t_ , they’d still be alive right now!”

“And if you _weren’t_ , Remus and I would both be dead right now so don’t--” Sirius took a deep breath, trying to bring his volume back down to something manageable. Harry had had enough angry men shouting in his face to last several lifetimes. His expression softened, and he cupped Harry's face in his hands, lifting it up to look him in the eyes. “You _do_ understand that, don’t you? You existing was the reason Remus was able to survive losing your parents -- which, I will stress, likely would have happened anyway, because Voldemort had it out for them before you were even dreamed of -- but you also were how I was able to escape that hell hole. Because Wormtail was where you were, and I was the only one that knew. That was my motivation, protecting you from him. But I couldn't-- I'm not going to sit here and proselytize about how you've got people that love you and things to live for, I know you know that already. But it's a little terrifying for me, as a parent, to see you so willing to throw your life away.” He ran a hand through his hair, his expression a little wild. 

“For fucks sake, Harry, you're _sixteen_. And please don't take this as a ‘you're too young, blah blah blah’ kind of admonition, I'm not Molly. I know you're not a child, and you're smart; and like Remus said, you're _frighteningly_ capable, and frankly a better duelist at your age than any of us were. I know that the war is important, and killing Voldemort until he stays fucking dead this time is important, and I'm not going to tell you not to fight. That's not you, it's not in your blood. But you are also important. To me. And I need you to understand that I don't want you feeling like you don't have anyone you can turn to again. You, me, Remus, Dora: we're all in this together. We're family. Pack. And no matter how you're feeling, or what you decide to do, Harry, you do not have to go it alone. Not anymore. You hear me? Not ever again.” 

Harry simply stared, wide eyed at him. Remus could see his mind racing, struggling to put the pieces together. He watched Harry's face shift from shock to something far more open and raw as Sirius’ words sunk down into his bones. The boy swallowed hard, and then nodded. Remus could pinpoint the exact moment that his walls collapsed like a house of cards, but he couldn't see who moved first; whether Harry dove into Sirius’ chest or if Sirius had pulled him in to give him somewhere safe to hide for a moment. He just knew his boy was howling into Sirius’ shirt like a wounded animal, while his man just held him, rocking him slowly back and forth. He got up and put his arms around them both, murmuring softly.

“Rwy’n falch ohonoch ti. Rwyt ti mor ddewr. Rydyn ni yma nawr, am byth. Dwi'n dy garu di, fab.”

“English, Moony. Defeats the purpose, saying shite like that if he can't understand you.” He choked out a laugh.

“I'm bloody proud of you, because I know what it takes to come clean about this shite. And we're not going anywhere.”

It took a few minutes for Harry to pull himself together enough to let go and frantically scrub at his face.

“Fuck, sorry.” Sirius shrugged at him.

“Don't apologize for having emotions. We all get them, good or bad. Now… I'm going to grab us some ice cream. Who wants what?” And with his orders in hand (butter toffee for Harry, and strawberry for Remus), he disappeared, leaving Remus alone in the room with Harry.

“So erm… what's… ‘um beef’ mean?”

“Am byth? 'Th' at the end there, but you were close. It means forever. Which is approximately how long you're stuck with us.” He was worried about Harry touching on some of the words he had skimmed over in his translation --he wasn't sure if he was prepared to have that conversation yet-- but the small smile Harry gave him in response was worth the risk.

Sirius returned in short order, handing them their ice creams before digging into his own --chocolate-- with gusto. The remaining discussions were light-hearted: quidditch rankings (“Falmouth is absolutely taking the cup this season!” “Fuck off with that, not with MacCarran keeping! The man couldn't catch sleep with his eyes shut!”) and some Welsh lessons (“...Pen pidyn?” “Yes, well done.” “What's it mean though?” “Dick head.” “ _Wicked_.”)

Harry was too distracted to notice the significant looks Sirius and Remus shared over his head, heavy with the promise of a Nice Long Chat with Dumbledore in the near future. He wouldn't hear them that night as Sirius transformed into Padfoot and howled under their bed for hours, before coming to sleep in his room.

He only noticed how they were simply there, never pushing more than they needed, ready for him to come to them with anything, at any time, armed with hot cocoa or a quick joke. Whatever he needed. He was almost afraid to get used to it. 

Almost, but not quite.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation for the Welsh:
> 
> "I can't do this."  
> "Hey, it's fine. You're going to be fine. We're in this together."  
> "I failed. I broke my promise."  
> "We both failed. We're here now. We'll do right by him."  
> "How can he ever forgive me?"  
> "How can he forgive either of us? We can't know unless we ask."
> 
> "Bollocks." (in spirit anyway. Literally, however, that says "cat's cock." Welsh, you wild.)
> 
> "I'm proud of you. You're so brave. We're here now, forever. I love you, son."
> 
> Boy, that was a fucking ride. I came up with this whole concept while listening to Pearl Jam's album "Ten" -- the title of this fic is partially from that, and partially because that's how many years it took for Remus to start getting straightened out.
> 
> This is still only part of the story. He's still struggling every day. He does his best to keep busy and to not fall back into the pit. Luckily, he's stubborn as hell, and he's got a good support system.
> 
> As a disclaimer, I have never used heroin myself, nor have I seen it used. I've seen some documentaries and interviews about it, sure, but mainly I got this description from music. I am a big fan of grunge music and it's a pretty common theme for them. Hopefully I got close enough to make it plausible.


End file.
